


Resolve_old

by iWantMyDrumfredBack (BornBlue)



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: ...they've got a lot of adjustments to make...., Edward Drummond Lives, M/M, More angst as they work it out, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14521014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornBlue/pseuds/iWantMyDrumfredBack
Summary: Alfred determines to find out what's wrong, as Edward tries to adjust to their circumstances.Can they get past this...?





	Resolve_old

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this is an old version of installment 14 in the series "Drummond Is Not Dead." Check out the new version, with expanded emotional exploration, a new character, and additional plot development: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14603070

 

* * *

 

 

He was still waiting.

 

Alfred had decided they needed to use the code he’d come up with in order to meet. This wasn’t precisely the kind of emergency he’d had in mind when he concocted it, but he desperately needed to know what had happened at the palace and whether Edward was alright… and, more to the point, whether he was wavering in his devotion. Alfred hadn’t been able to send a note right away when he woke up that next morning—it was Sunday, and he didn’t think it wise to send a private message to Drummond’s rooms. He needed to wait until he could dispatch a palace page to the House and make it all appear official.

 

Needless to say, Sunday had crawled by at a snail’s pace.

 

So first thing Monday morning, he had sent the short note he’d spent far too much time composing the previous afternoon: 

 

> _Drummond,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I’ve received news from Scotland that must be relayed with all due speed. The matter begs immediate attention; delay would be deleterious._
> 
>  
> 
> _Please meet at Simpson’s on the Strand this evening at seven o’clock, if quite convenient._
> 
>  
> 
> _With regards,_
> 
> _Lord Alfred_

 

 

The page had returned with a barely discernible reply that answered precisely nothing:

 

> _Railway debate today; may go too late._
> 
>  
> 
> _Drummond_

 

 

While Alfred knew this wasn’t untrue, he had an unsettled suspicion that Edward was employing it as an excuse.

 

He found most troubling the absence of any valediction before Drummond’s name. Alfred had been so careful to include their agreed-upon “W _ith regards_ ” in his signature—their code for the love they shared. Yet in reply, Edward wrote nothing but his name. Alfred didn’t know why, and it was killing him. Perhaps he was just too busy when he replied. The writing was barely legible, so he might have been rushed and unable to devote his full attention. While Alfred would not appreciate Edward’s neglect, a simple oversight would definitely be preferable to an intentional omission. The thought that he might have purposely withdrawn his affection was too painful to contemplate for any amount of time.

 

It all came down to the fact that he really did not know what to make of Drummond’s sudden departure two days before. He had a rather bad feeling about it all, but was trying his damnedest not to jump to conclusions. He felt it important to meet him face to face—and alone—in order to get to the bottom of the matter. He simply could not allow himself to entertain the idea that Edward would turn his back on him now, not after their declarations of love and their glorious night of passion. It had all been so perfect—like a dream he never would have allowed himself before. Whatever the injustices and indignities they must face outside their own private world—and those were indeed ample—Alfred now knew without doubt that it was worth it. It was worth it to seize those moments of bliss… worth it to be truly known… to be loved and desired and cherished as they loved and desired and cherished each other. Alfred had never intended to be so deeply intertwined with Edward, but now that he was, there was no going back.

 

This sudden uncertainty as to whether Edward was of a like mind was downright torturous.

 

And so Monday dragged on as Alfred tried to keep himself occupied. Every time he heard a noise in the palace corridor or saw a carriage pull up before the grand stone staircase, his heart skipped a beat wondering whether it might be Edward this time. By mid-afternoon, Alfred had heard nothing more, and so sent a new message:

  

> _Drummond,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I will be at Simpson’s from seven o’clock on and hope you may meet me there after the debate. Send word to the palace before then if you are able._
> 
>  
> 
> _With regards,_
> 
> _Lord Alfred_

 

 

It was all he could think to do as he watched the clock hands crawl along toward evening.

 

 

__________

 

 

So hours later, there he was in the Guards’ Club, drawing off his cheroot and nursing a whiskey, wondering why he tormented himself with things that reminded him of Edward. It was almost half past eight, and there was still no sign of him and no word. But he’d known—hadn’t he?—that a life with Drummond would be a life of waiting. That’s all this was—waiting on the debate to end—waiting for Drummond to make his way to their meeting place—nothing more—nothing to worry about—no reason to believe Drummond was purposely avoiding him.

 

Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

 

The clock struck nine and then half past, and Alfred made what he feared was a reckless decision. It was quite out of his character, yet he felt he had no choice.

 

He was fairly certain no one followed him as he made his way through the London streets—he took a circuitous route, slipping in and out of shadows along the way, golden hair obscured by his dark top hat. The entry to the building wasn’t terribly well lit, a fact for which he was especially grateful tonight. He had never been here before, but knew he was headed to the second floor. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered with trepidation what he might find.

 

He feared his knock had been too soft to hear, but within moments, the door opened and Edward stood on the other side, clearly shocked to see Alfred standing on his threshold.

 

“Alfred!” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Alfred held his fingers to his lips and pushed past him into the room. He had no intention of standing on ceremony, particularly if it meant allowing Edward to turn him away without answers.

 

He appeared to have interrupted him in the process of preparing for bed. He stood barefoot with his suspenders already hanging at his sides, shirt untucked and unbuttoned. Alfred could see his nightshirt strewn on the back of a nearby chair, beyond which the bedroom door was open, giving him his first glimpse of the corner of Edward’s bed. He glanced around the small ante room, but couldn’t properly take it in. When he turned back to speak to Edward, he had closed the door and was leaning against it, forehead pressed to the dark wood, eyes closed as if in pain.

 

“A Corn Laws vote may go late, but a railway debate? Past seven—really? Were you there this whole time? Until after nine o’clock?”

 

Silence.

 

“What is wrong, Edward? Why are you avoiding me? What happened at the palace on Saturday? I’ve been worried sick.”

 

“I’m sorry, Alfred.” He continued standing as he was, eyes closed. Was that a tear on his cheek? Alfred stepped closer to him to look, pulling Edward off the door and forcing him to face him directly.

 

Yes, his lashes were watery and a tear was indeed slipping down one cheek. Edward seemed unable to meet Alfred’s eyes.

 

“I don’t understand, Edward. Talk to me. What in the world is all this about?”

 

“I didn’t think you’d still be at the Guard’s Club by the time the debate ended,” he offered weakly. It wasn’t terribly convincing.

 

“And you didn’t bother to see? You just came home instead? Not even a message? No, you’re not telling me everything.” Alfred was feeling less worried and more angry now; this is not the kind of response he would have ever expected from his Edward… but perhaps he wasn’t his, after all? “I shouldn’t have come here—I risked too much—but Edward, I cannot bear this silence. After you left the palace so abruptly…. I know something is wrong. You _must_ tell me!” It was everything he could do not to raise his voice.

 

Edward walked away and slumped into the nearest chair, head in hands. He still hadn’t met Alfred’s eyes.

 

“I know. I owe you much. I don’t know where to begin.”

 

There was a pit in Alfred’s stomach. This sounded like the beginning of a goodbye. But surely that was not possible…. He stood as still as a statue, awaiting Edward’s explanation. A pregnant silence followed, during which he felt he might burst. But he was damned if he would say the next words. It was Edward’s turn to lay his cards on the table. Alfred had never wanted to lose his heart, and he was damned if he’d lose his dignity as well.

 

At last, Edward lifted his head and looked at him.

 

“I’m still not entirely sure what happened. I was so happy Saturday morning, Alfred. I felt like a new man… like you had opened the world to me. But then when I came to the palace, everything suddenly felt so different. I was so distracted with love for you, more than ever before. I wanted to hold you and I couldn’t. And then I didn’t know when I’d be able to again. And it just seemed impossible to live this way. To choose this life.”

 

Alfred was torn between sympathy and aggravation. What had Edward expected when he made the choice to be with Alfred? “And do you see this as a choice, Edward? You have _chosen_ to love me? I’m so honored,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

“Alfred, please, don’t….”

 

“Don’t what?” He was fully angry now, pacing the floor and struggling to keep his voice down. “This is no choice for me, Edward. And yet I was ready to walk away, to let you go and have your life with Florence, to make Scotland a beautiful memory that would mean nothing more. It was you— _you—_ who wouldn’t let it go. _You_ whose life flashed before your eyes and gave you resolve. What happened to that clarity you spoke of, Edward?”

 

“I wouldn’t go back to a life with Florence. I don’t want that anymore. It’s you or no one, Alfred. You or no one—do you hear? I just hadn’t understood how painful it would be… how _hard_ ….”

 

“Yes, it’s _hard._ Of course it is,” Alfred replied with exasperation. “Did you really not know that?”

 

“I suppose I hadn’t, not really. I knew it here,” he pointed at his head, “but I didn’t understand how it would _feel_.” Alfred looked at the ceiling impatiently, ready to bite back with his words before Edward cut him off. “It brought to mind things I hadn’t thought about in years.” Alfred stood still and listened as Edward told him of his sister’s death and the dream and his fear that he would never really have Alfred—that they would always be living a life where happiness was just out of reach. It explained some things, but as far as he was concerned, it didn’t excuse any of it.

 

“And do you imagine you are the only one who has ever suffered a cruel loss? I've known loss and heartache. Why do you suppose I never _wanted_ to fall in love? Hmmmm?” Alfred resumed his angry pacing. “I’m sorry for our situation—believe me. All that morning before you arrived at the palace I’d been stewing over my anger at having to kick you out before daylight, like we’re trespassers in _my_ house. I could barely choke down the indignity that we cannot be safe and carefree together, not even in _my own home._ Of course that’s hard. Of course it is! Have I not been telling you that? But what, then, are our choices? We continue or we don’t. We snatch joy where we can, or we give it up in full and go back to living our… half lives, I think you called it. So are you just going to walk away now, after everything you’ve said? After you’ve convinced me that I could love you? That I would be safe with you?”

 

Edward’s eyes were on the floor as Alfred waited for a response. He finally felt he’d endured all he could, and began to take firm steps toward the door. He had barely heard or seen Edward make a move when suddenly he was standing before the door, blocking Alfred from opening it.

 

“Let me by.”

 

“I can’t, Alfred. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I’m sorry. You know, I think what shook me most is how jealous I was of Miss Coke. It makes no sense. I know you don’t feel for her as you do for me, and yet there she was, speaking with you as though she had some prior claim, as though _I_ were the interloper on _your_ duet. To see her touch your arm so confidently without fear of raising suspicions, and to know that I could never behave even in that simple way with you. It made our circumstances so much more real to me. We will always be pretending and dissembling.”

 

“With others, yes, of course….”

 

“But not with each other,” Edward whispered urgently, gently grasping Alfred’s shoulders. “That’s the point, isn’t it? We will always have each other to be fully ourselves with. I was feeling too sorry for myself to remember that part of it.”

 

“Do we have each other, though?” Alfred threw Edward’s hands off his shoulders and stared him down. “Do I have you— _really_ —if this is all it takes to shake you from me? The other night I said I felt certain about you, but I don’t feel certain anymore.” Alfred closed his eyes and sighed wearily as he fought back his own tears. “I think you should step aside and let me leave now.” No one moved. "Drummond, please...."

 

“No, Alfred!” Edward looked as if he’d suffered a terrible blow. “I love you. I hadn’t experienced any of that yet… not since becoming lovers. It threw me. The whole last—what?—the last month has been such a whirlwind. It’s as if my life was upended and everything had to be re-created.” Alfred tried to step around Edward to reach the door handle, but he fell to his knees and grabbed Alfred’s hands to keep him there. “I know this has shaken you, I know it’s shaken your faith in me… I’m so sorry I put you through this… but now I _do_ know, I _do_ understand. It’s not the easy path, but if you’re with me, I can do this... I can be worthy of your love... I know I can.”

 

_At that moment, even as Alfred felt the waves of hurt receding, he wanted to hurt Edward back. He had an inexplicable urge to torture him, just as he had been tortured by feeling the withdrawal of his devotion. He wanted to hold onto his pain so he might maintain his resolve and walk out the door and make Edward feel the same kind of agony he had felt over the last two days…._

 

Of course, Edward had been in his own agony, hadn’t he? Surely, Alfred understood how hard this must be… how new these feelings were to Edward…. Alfred had years of practice at managing forbidden desires and maintaining a public façade, but it was all new to Edward, wasn’t it?

 

_But how could he be certain this wouldn’t happen in the future? How could he know Edward wouldn’t be spooked by their trials and all the indignities they would undoubtedly face over and over again? He wanted to feel certain again, but wasn’t sure it was possible now that he’d seen how Edward could waver…. How would Drummond feel if he walked out now? Would he then truly understand how much pain he had caused Alfred since marching out of the palace?_

 

The argument raged inside Alfred’s head— _hurt him and leave?_ forgive him and stay?

 

He looked into those dark eyes, damp with threatening tears, staring back at him beneath furrowed brows. It was clear that Edward was already tormented, and Alfred felt himself soften. _Damn these emotions! How am I supposed to stay angry with him?_

 

 _"_ I love you, Alfred; I don’t want to lose you. Please. Please stay.”

 

_He’s so lovely, even when he's sad…._

 

Alfred removed a hand from Drummond’s grip and stroked his cheek, wiping away the tear that was drying there before whispering quietly, “Stand up and hold me, Edward.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
